Page 137 of Crossed

That we’re allowed to make mistakes without repenting.

He usually nods against me and whispers prayers to his god while I hold his pieces together until he can stitch them back up on his own.

Then I let our love hurt so good that he forgets the rest of his pain.

“You two look messy,” I say, smiling as I walk over.

Quinten laughs as he looks over at me, bouncing on his knees, but then like always, he looks down at his hands and realizes just how colorful they are from paint, and he stiffens before shooting up and running over to the basin of clean water they have placed at the edge of the stone.

He’s far more adaptable than even I gave him credit for, and that’s yet another thing that makes guilt try to reach up and dig in its claws. And that’s when it’sCade’sturn to remind me that making mistakes is human, and life’s about learning. About growing.

And I’ll never stop growing with Quinten.

The moment I get close, Cade reaches out, wrapping his arms around me and tugging me into his lap. I squeal, the wet paint on his hands creating purple and gold prints on my skin, physical reminders that I’m his just as much as he’s mine.

“Salut, petite pécheresse. You look beautiful today.”

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my lips and rubbing his nose against mine. I grin, sinking into his touch.

“You got home late last night,” I murmur, flicking my eyes toward Quinten, who’s scrubbing the paint off his arm and bouncing on his tiptoes.

“I did.” He hums.

He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t ask him to. Some things about Cade will never change, and I love him wholly,becauseof who he is, not in spite of it.

Even if I do try to let him know that he doesn’t have amonster, just a damaged little boy who never got the chance to heal.

But his scars tell his story, and his coping mechanisms are his to have, the same way mine are my own.

Like I’ve always said, our experience shapes us whether we want it to or not.

His large hands glide their way up the back of my spine, sending shivers through my body.

God, I wish we were alone.

Years later and I still can’t get enough of him.

“Quin,” I yell out, noticing that he’s now far down the backyard and smelling every flower. I move to get off Cade’s lap, intending to go ask Quinten if he wants to go on a hike today, but before I can, Cade grips me tightly and pulls me back down.

“When we’re alone,” he murmurs, “I’m going to fuck you right here on this chair and remind you who you belong to.”

I scoff. “We’ll probably break it.”

His eyes glint. “One can only hope.”

If he would have said things so blatantly when we first met, I’m sure I would have shied away from his extreme possession. But now…now there’s really nothing I crave more. I enjoy being his.Feelinglike I’m his. Being reminded of it.

I love having a man that evenGodcouldn’t rule, and I know I could ask him to do anything and he’d give it to me.

The truth is that we both got lost in the world, and the world didn’t care to find us, so we found each other instead.

Nobody has ever loved me that way.

Then again, I’m not sure that our love is something common.

It hurts too good.